


Blue Light

by sirenalley



Category: Free!
Genre: Awkwardness, Getting Together, Inexperience, Introspection, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9270182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenalley/pseuds/sirenalley
Summary: For the first time, Haru imagines what’s in his head. All of the doubt, questioning, and anxiety—he resonates with it. For the first time, the mystery of Sousuke Yamazaki doesn’t seem as impossible as he thought.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A slow, painstaking story of how Haruka and Sousuke fall in love through much effort and miscommunication. These two quiet stubborn boys deserve each other. I think I started this over two years ago, but finally I can wash my hands of it. Probably my last contribution to this series.

_And you didn't even notice  
When the sky turned blue  
And you couldn't tell the difference  
Between me and you  
And I nearly didn't notice  
The gentlest feeling_  
— Blue Light, Bloc Party

 

Haru can’t keep that race out of his head. It recurs in his thoughts nightmarishly—the floodgate of pressure behind him, drawing him back, darkness swallowing him whole. When his hand slapped the opposite wall, Haru had experienced more relief than victory at his win. He had escaped.

It doesn’t last, because Haru senses the shadow of Sousuke Yamazaki in his peripheral whenever he moves too slowly now. He senses it in the relay at prefecturals, those sloe-eyed glances singular in attention. He’s hounded by that complicated resentment he doesn't understand. 

Like everything, Haru buries it into a small, untouchable space of his mind. When he dives, arms splitting through water and legs propelling him to the other end of the pool, Haru's eyes are closed. He’s afraid if he opens them he’ll only see darkness.

*

In the time before regionals, there are nights Haru runs alone. Makoto’s absence alters the calm and comfortable silence he’s accustomed, so Haru runs to the adrenaline of doubt in his head. He listens to the sound of his own heart in tempo with his breath and his feet, staggered like a person apart from himself. 

The nights are dark and starless, great stretches of black sky across the ocean on his right side. He runs until he reaches the sea, then runs faster, air burning on each exhalation. 

Haru turns a corner and climbs the swell of a hill until he's veering away from the ocean.

The streetlamps flood his path in a perimeter of gold, carving out the dark in a procession down the road. One lamp has a dead bulb like a glitch that disrupts the bright line of light. 

There’s a figure ahead of him. Haru crosses to the opposite side of the street, lagging when he recognizes the stranger’s profile.

He doesn’t know what to do. He glances over his shoulder at the ocean and then toward the train station. Sousuke must be headed there. Haru picks up speed again to avoid him, running in imagined terror, climbing the slope so fast his thighs pinch. He hears something behind him and feels the oppressive sense he’s not alone. His footfalls are matched by an off-beat companion—he’s being followed. 

Haru is breathless when he reaches the station, bending over to stare at the patch of grass between his sneakers. 

“What was that?” a low voice comes from his back. 

There’s the stupid urge to flee; Haru’s eyes map the platform to find another staircase at the opposite end. He can make it if he goes, and he doesn’t think Sousuke will give chase, probably.

“You were running this way,” Sousuke says.

He isn’t winded like he followed Haru at all. Haru turns to see, but the station light is behind Sousuke.

Haru shifts, uneasy. “I..."

“Nanase,” Sousuke says. The train’s approach hums through concrete. Light floods the platform in a yellow wave and Haru sees Sousuke’s face in a blink of abrupt illumination. “It’s the last train. Are you getting on it?”

It’s absurd because this isn’t even his route. He follows the ocean; he doesn’t go near the station. And Sousuke doesn’t come to Iwatobi. 

He doesn’t know what Sousuke wants him to say, so he backs up and clears the path. “No.”

“I was wondering,” Sousuke says it like he’s picking each word out. “Since you live around here.”

“What about you?”

“None of your business.” His shoulder nearly swipes Haru as he passes.

Sousuke’s words are brutal for a reason he can’t identify. “There’s a joint practice tomorrow,” he blurts as he watches Sousuke board the train. “Race me again.”

The train doors slide closed with a mechanical sound, but it’s enough time to see Sousuke startle. He looks like he wants to say something, not that Haru would hear through the doors—instead, he watches the train roll into motion as it leaves the platform.

*

When tomorrow comes they don’t talk about it. Sousuke maintains a wide berth for most of practice while Haru drifts directionless in the water. He’s taking up space in one of the lanes, sharing with Makoto to avoid frustrating any of the Samezuka swimmers.

At the other end of the pool, Sousuke is slacking off in his own way. Haru tries for some subtlety, but it’s difficult with the weight of that dark glare on his turned back. Sousuke’s stares are worse than Rin’s ever were, because they don’t make sense and he can’t return them, not with Sousuke’s obstinate avoidance. Something about the awareness makes him uncomfortable. When he races Rin at the end of practice, he slaps the wall a second too slow.

“Better luck next time, Haru,” Rin teases, teethed grin shining.

“Whatever.” Haru sinks down so the pool water ripples under his nose in the appearance of a moody sea creature.

“What’s with that look?” Rin is laughing at him. “Don’t be a sore loser. You’re so cranky today.”

Makoto offers him a hand. When he’s pulled up, Sousuke is right there within range to toss Rin a towel. He looks directly at Haru—a chill unravels through his body, his limbs jellyish and weak.

“Something wrong, Haru?” Makoto asks. He casts a glance over his own shoulder as though he can sense the source of Haru’s disturbance. 

“Nothing,” he says quietly.

Once he’s rinsed and changed, Haru follows his friends outside. The sky is teal with twilight. A nagging urge slows his feet until he stops, drawing the attention of everyone else. He forces out the first logical excuse he can summon, “I want to talk to Rin. I’ll catch the next train.”

“I can wait for you,” Makoto offers.

“We’ll all wait, Haru-chan!” Nagisa is pouting. “You shouldn’t have to go home alone!”

“It’s fine,” he says. “It might take a while.” Then, thinking better of his bluntness, “See you guys at practice.”

His friends watch him head inside. He hasn’t thought this out, praying he doesn’t run into Rin by chance, but the natatorium is blessedly bereft of swim team captains. 

Sousuke is in the foyer glowering with impatience. “We’ve got an hour before the janitor shows up.”

Deciding not to ask how Sousuke managed to outwit Rin, since he’s sure it’s the captain who closes up after the swim team is done, Haru moves toward the locker room in silence. Maybe Rin knows, but somehow he doubts it.

By the time he reaches the pool, Sousuke is in the middle of a warm-up lap, powerful arms churning water in the eerie quiet of their isolation. Haru’s stomach clenches as he approaches the nearest lane. Sousuke is resting against the wall an entire pool-length apart, but Haru struggles to work through the blanket of sudden anxiety. He’s being watched again, Sousuke’s gaze pinning him like magnified glass. 

Haru dives at a perfect arc and swims to the other side. Sousuke joins him on the turn so they both reach the wall in the span of a moment. They heave up in sync, climbing the starting block with practiced ease.

“We’re swimming freestyle,” Haru declares, and he hears Sousuke suck his teeth.

“I figured. You wouldn’t start swimming something else out of nowhere.”

He doesn’t answer, letting out a stream of breath, eyes on the black-numbered analog clock. The seconds tick away. A fresh moon gleams through the window, its light fragmented across blue water.

When the second-hand reaches sixty they both dive, shattering the illusion of that glassy surface. 

Haru has no idea what he was expecting when he proposed this race, but maybe it was to confirm what he felt before. Maybe he wanted to purge that feeling from his mind. Either way, it’s as terrifying as the first time. The dark pressure is at his spine when he makes the turn, yanking on his heels, hungry and empty as it devours the moon’s light from underwater. Haru crashes to the opposite wall and breaks through the surface in agony, lungs dragging air with ragged gasps. He’s not sure if he has breathed even once for the duration of the race.

But he’s won—he hears the splash of movement that signifies Sousuke in the lane next to him. It doesn’t feel anything like his recent victories against Rin; the achievement is awful and tense. There’s a strange fishhook of guilt in his stomach.

“There you go,” Sousuke pants for breath, but his voice isn’t angry or accusatory at the loss. “Were you trying to prove something, Nanase? You didn’t come back here just to race me.”

“No.” It’s not what he wants to say. “I—”

“It’s not about us.” He watches Sousuke climb out, water pouring off his skin. “You already know that.”

“I didn’t think…”

“You didn’t.” Sousuke is scrubbing a towel over his body in jerky movements. He seems to grimace. “If you want to race, then start taking it seriously. Otherwise I’m not interested. I don’t care what you’re trying to prove.” His footsteps are wet on the concrete as he leaves.

Haru stays in the pool until the janitor wheels in supplies and barks him out. He packs his gear and heads toward the station, still damp and chilly, strangely numb. His bones shake with those words— _take it seriously_ —and he carries them into his dreams that night, a phantom only visible underwater.

*

It’s not fear after that, Haru begins to recognize. He’s encountered a similar obstacle in situations where he hasn’t had Makoto. He begins to feel _wrong_ , as if he isn’t supposed to be there at all. The challenge of speech is like chewing pieces of wool to shape language; he can’t force anything out of his throat. It’s frustration, not fear. The frustration in not knowing how to articulate what he feels, what he thinks when Sousuke tells him to take swimming seriously. 

He is. He _is_ , or he thinks he is, and he doesn’t know what it’s supposed to mean when Sousuke makes those demands of him. He doesn’t know how to respond. 

Makoto’s noticed. He manages to steer them out of encounters with Sousuke whenever they’re around Samezuka’s team. It doesn’t make a difference because Sousuke doesn’t seek him out, although mercifully, Makoto won’t press Haru for detail. And yet he knows that while avoidance might save him discomfort, it won’t cure this struggle to express himself, to figure out why his thoughts and his feelings are so tangled up in Sousuke’s looks, Sousuke’s words.

And then the truth is blown open, Sousuke’s shoulder an angry red beacon in his mind. He’s known. He hasn’t been able to tell Rin, but he’s known. It’s harder than anything to listen to Rin’s sobs as they splinter the air, but a burden eases off his shoulders. His mind is no longer wrapped around Sousuke’s awful secret like its reluctant guardian.

The darkness that follows his own race is unfathomable; the success of the relay does little to blunt the depth of indistinguishable emptiness. He doesn’t know the source, and he has trouble digging around inside himself to find it when everything is so dark and blinding. That he lashes out at Makoto is something he never realized he could do, but it plunges him further under until he’s not sure what he’s feeling at all—if maybe he’s imagined this entire nightmare into existence.

When Haru reaches his empty house that night, he slips into his bed and stays there, slumber claiming his bones.

He has another dream—a series of images and sounds more than a linear progression of events. He’s on the beach, waves licking his toes, water the color of tar. It’s hot as it soaks his ankles in rolling heaves of rhythmic movement. He imagines himself washing away with it, devoured by the whole hungry ocean.

Then he’s running across the platform of the station, but it stretches ahead an impossible reach. He runs while the train’s headlights blaze across his eyelids, bright and then gone.

Haru is in the bath, water cool on his naked skin. There’s someone hanging over the side of it—their large hand circles his throat, frigid palm resting on the groove where his collar connects. They’re pressing him down by his breastbone and throat, fingertips bruising flesh at the pressure. When Haru goes under, he thrashes wildly in a fit of survival. He recognizes the face that hovers above—Sousuke holds him with one arm, and his hurt shoulder looks inflamed even from the angle. 

Sousuke’s expression is hard to read, but something reflects in the flash of his eyes. It’s a familiar look. Haru’s hands slap the sides of the bath, feet kicking out to splash violent water. He claws up Sousuke’s arm. When his mouth opens to inhale, bathwater floods his lungs. 

The veil between sleep and reality thins. When he hears pounding, for a moment he confuses it with his heels kicking the basin of the bath in a last effort to live, but it’s separate from the pattern of his racing heart. 

Someone is at the front door. 

Dragging himself onto his feet is an incredible challenge. His bed is a tangled mess of sheets, and his room is too, clothes thrown across the floor, silvery shadow over everything. The curtain is covering the window so he doesn’t know what time it is, but he thinks it’s late, no longer morning. It takes a while to get to the door and pull it open. Sousuke is on the other side. He nearly slams it shut as his heart jack-rabbits, but the impulse fades. 

_It’s not fear. It’s frustration._

The sun blazes dark red and orange in late afternoon. He doesn’t say anything, gazing back at Sousuke with wide eyes, knowing the absence of greeting must come off rude but he’s still spinning from his dreams. He wonders if that’s what drew Sousuke here. He doesn’t believe in superstition, but sometimes Sousuke makes him wish he did.

“Rin hasn’t heard from you in days,” is what Sousuke says. Haru wonders why he knows or why he cares. Maybe he spoke to Makoto too.

“Come in,” his own voice rasps. All of his limbs are leaden. It feels pointless to engage a conversation and struggle over each enunciation of thought, so he stays silent as the door widens.

Sousuke pauses before he steps over the threshold, movement resembling a wary animal in foreign territory.

“I’m going to take a bath,” Haru announces as he leaves Sousuke in the foyer. He doesn’t think much of the decision. Mostly he doesn’t know whether to treat Sousuke as a proper visitor or an invasion of privacy, but Sousuke doesn’t say anything as he goes, so it must be fine. 

The washroom is unlit when he enters. He hasn’t cleaned it since the last bath and a damp towel is on the floor, yesterday’s clothes tossed into a wicker basket by the door. At least he drained the tub, although he doesn’t remember doing it. Haru kneels and pushes in the plug. One hand twists the cold water on, spray flecking his cheek as he stares until his vision loses focus. He wonders what Sousuke is doing in his house. 

When the tub is close to full, he twists the handle and strips out of his clothes to climb in. The chill of water shakes up through his body in a violent tremor, but he clenches teeth against it. He needs it cold in order to sober him out of those dreams.

Footsteps come down the hall. He raises his head high enough to peek over the edge of the tub, not surprised to find Sousuke standing in the frame of the doorway. 

For some reason Haru feels no shame at his own nudity. It’s not like Sousuke’s looking—and if he is it doesn’t matter. His body is numb from cold water and his head is drowsy from oversleep. There’s no room for anything, no anxiety or embarrassment, no doubt, not even frustration.

“Is this what you’re going to do? Are you serious?” It sounds scolding. Maybe it’s his imagination that places aggression in that tone. Haru cranes his chin a little higher to see the mean expression on Sousuke’s face, but he doesn’t find that. The lights are off, so it’s difficult to see details in the dimness. “What the hell happened to you out there?”

“I don’t know.” He tries to say it honestly. “I had a dream you were drowning me.”

He closes his eyes to avoid whatever expression Sousuke’s face makes in the dark. 

“When?”

“Just now,” Haru says. “Before you knocked.”

Sousuke pauses, then makes a sound like disbelief. “You’re so weird.”

At last the embarrassment comes to him delayed. He sinks further into the tub, planting his feet against the opposite end, water rising up to his chin. “Why are you here?”

“To check on you. It’s not that hard to believe.” He pauses, then says, “Rin told me to.”

“So you’re here because of Rin.”

He can hear Sousuke’s feet on the bathroom tile, and he wonders irrationally if Sousuke took off his shoes at the door. Unable to overcome the surge of curiosity, Haru’s eyes blink open to find Sousuke’s kneeling with one elbow on the edge of the tub. In reaction, he curls knees up to his chest and wraps both arms around them.

“I guess,” Sousuke says. “I saw your race.”

“I saw yours too.” It sounds like he’s fighting back. “You shouldn’t have been swimming. It was stupid.”

Sousuke makes a sound too quiet to manifest laughter. Haru’s trying not to look at his face, but it means he’s staring at the bathwater while heat flares in his cheeks and ears. Their proximity consumes all of his attention. He wonders if Sousuke is going to take the inspiration and close one of those big hands around his throat to force him under; more than that, he wonders if he’d resist. He’s thinking too much, but his thoughts build out of his control, spiraling into paranoia that this is another dream more complicated than the last.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Sousuke snaps. “I’m not here because I want to be.”

“Then why—”

“Rin’s going to Australia.”

He drops lower until even his ears are submerged in water and he can hear the pulse of his heart, eyes closing again—for one moment nothing exists and nothing touches him. His shoulders slide down the tub’s cool side and he feels himself slip; it’s such an easy movement. He’s done it a hundred times in the past. 

“Did you hear me?” Sousuke demands from far away. “ _Hey_.”

It’s unclear from underwater, but he does hear it. He opens his mouth and bubbles of air burst free.

A strong hand takes hold of his shoulder and pulls him up. He lets out a startled noise, head turning to see Sousuke’s glare, looking as frantic as Haru suddenly feels.

“Stop ignoring me,” he says. “And get out of the bath. It’s freezing. You’re going to get sick if you stay in it.”

“I do this all the time…” 

“How are you still alive?” Sousuke demands. He drags Haru onto his feet by sheer force. Water rains off his skin, splashing the tile over the tub’s edge. “Get dressed. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Haru watches him go with no small amount of confusion. Then he shivers and takes a towel from the rack.

Reaching for the clothes he wore before, Haru dresses and walks an automatic path toward the kitchen. The tatami mats are cool under his heels as he passes through empty rooms. Early evening makes the air lighter, colors shimmery blue as shadows begin to set in. In the doorway, he stops to see Sousuke at the stove, ingredients spread across the counter.

“What are you doing?” he asks dumbly.

“Cooking.” Sousuke glances at him, then resumes his work. “I got hungry.”

Haru studies him. After a moment he gives up, walking to the fridge and pulling out a container of chilled barley tea. He fills two glasses and moves into the adjacent room, kneeling down at the low table. 

It doesn’t take long for Sousuke to finish. He makes a few trips to the table carrying plates, but once everything is delivered, Haru studies the food. Natto, steamed rice, miso soup, and a small platter of grilled mackerel. It’s not exactly a dinner meal, and he can’t help an uncertain look.

“It’s what you had, and it was the quickest to make. It would’ve surprised me if you owned anything besides mackerel.”

“What’s wrong with mackerel?” Haru’s already plucking up a pair of chopsticks, now realizing his own hunger.

“It’s not healthy if it’s all you eat. If you’re going pro one day, then eat something else once in a while. Rin’s diet has a lot of protein in it.”

Haru looks down at his dish. “I never said I was going pro.”

“Don’t you want to?” Sousuke asks the question as though anything else is absolutely unimaginable to him. “Do you remember what I said? About swimming seriously.”

“I know,” Haru says, still quiet. “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?”

“Why—” His mouth shuts. “Why everyone thinks that’s what I want.” 

Sousuke pinches bites of fish, rice, and fermented beans into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. “If you want to keep swimming with Rin,” he finally says, “if you want to stand on the international stage with him, then you need to figure out what you’re going to do, Nanase. No one’s going to wait for you. The races aren’t going to wait for you. What are you expecting? Just following your friends won’t give you an answer. You’ve only got one shot at this, and I’m not going to watch you throw it away.”

Haru looks over. “It’s not about us.”

“No.”

“You’re doing this because of Rin.” 

“I already told you that,” Sousuke says in frustration. “Rin wants to swim with you. Isn’t that enough?”

“Why did you show up here?” he demands. He isn’t hungry anymore, so he rises abruptly from the table. “I’m going to bed.”

Sousuke could say any number of things. It’s barely six in the evening, too early for sleep, and he’s leaving a guest to fend for themselves in his house, but he only looks at Haru as he goes.

When he wakes a few hours later, Sousuke isn’t there. He’s cleaned all the dishes from their meal and tidied the kitchen, which is something Haru hadn’t expected and isn’t sure how to interpret. It’s frustrating, whatever it means. Haru moves around the house in a dreamy state of awareness. He slips outside to set food down for the stray cats, studying the black expanse of sky and the sliver of the moon. A few hours later, he’s back in bed, exhausted even when sleep doesn’t seem to come.

The following day Sousuke is at his door and Haru lets him in. Sousuke cooks, and they eat, this time a more substantial meal than the previous night. They don’t talk about swimming. They don’t talk much at all, excluding the occasional comment on Sousuke’s cooking abilities—it surprises Haru that he’s any good. 

Facing each other on the third day, the nagging question rises out of him. “You came back again. Why?”

“Like I said, Rin told me to. And I was in the area.” 

“Three days in a row.”

Sousuke ignores him, filling his mouth with curry and rice. His cheeks bulge; Haru wants to laugh at the cartoonish image, but he can’t summon the energy. 

“I have to get more groceries,” Haru says instead.

“Yeah.”

“Did you want something?” He can’t help sounding mad, but he feels defensive. “You’ve been cooking all of it. If you want to make something else, write it down.”

“You’re asking me to help you make a grocery list?” Sousuke looks at him with bemusement.

“No,” Haru snaps. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Fine. Get some pork.”

*

On the fourth day of a strange week, Haru shops early for groceries, carrying the brown paper bags home in his arms. Making it back before Sousuke feels urgent, and part of him doubts Sousuke would be willing to wait at the door. Haru’s in the kitchen when the knock comes, abandoning the half-unpacked bags to answer as his belly churns.

Gou Matsuoka stands outside wearing a warm smile. He stares a moment, then says, “Oh.”

“Oh? Haruka-senpai, were you hoping it would be someone else?” There’s a flash in her eyes, and then she flaps her hand to wave off the question. “Anyway! I was wondering if I could come in? Just for a second. Are you busy?”

“No,” he says, stepping back. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen your house.” Gou cheerfully moves inside, toeing out of her sandals. “How are you, Haruka-senpai?”

It means more than simple pleasantry, but Gou looks at him like she knows he won’t be truthful. Maybe he won’t say anything at all, in her mind. They haven’t spoken since prefecturals. He stares at his feet, then moves toward the kitchen. “Fine.”

He can feel her eyes on his back. “You know, I’ve been talking to Makoto-senpai the last few days. He’s very worried about you.”

Haru’s shoulders hunch, fingers clenched around a bundle of fresh cabbage. He sets it down and says nothing.

“That’s not what I wanted to bother you about, though, I’m sorry, Haruka-senpai.” Her voice is serious; he remains turned, resigned to listening. “I take it you’ve probably heard by now… About Rin? He left for Australia this morning. Ah, maybe he told you himself.”

“No,” Haru blurts out. “It was—Sousuke told me.”

“Sousuke? I didn’t know you guys were talking to each other.”

“We aren’t.” Haru hesitates. “He came over the other day. Rin told him to.”

“How strange,” Gou says. She comes up next to him and begins to put away his groceries. She doesn’t ask, and he isn’t shocked by that. “You said the other day?”

“What is it?”

“Well, Sousuke doesn’t come to Iwatobi much. I wish he would! I always tell him to visit. Same with my brother, but I understand why they don’t. Still,” she sighs. “Did I mention I saw him once? He was headed for the train station. I wanted to go after him, but… he didn’t look like he was very happy.” She pauses, folding the empty grocery bags in silence, then goes on. “But I think I know why now. Rin mentioned his physical therapist is around here. It’s closer to where he grew up than Samezuka, so it makes sense. Maybe his family knows the doctor.”

He blinks, at a loss of a response. 

“At least he answers my text messages,” Gou rolls her eyes. “Unlike Rin. If you do see him again, let him know I said hi!”

Again he says nothing, but he does manage a small nod. He’s not sure if he can promise anything, because he doesn’t know if Sousuke is going to come back. It’s possible those three days meant nothing—a fluke, an attempt to intimidate him, _something_ else. He can’t begin to fathom what Sousuke’s thinking, as puzzling out his own motivations is difficult enough these days.

“Then tell Rin I said hi,” he finally offers. 

“Or you could do it yourself,” Gou says with a sideways smile, her expression soft as she nudges him. “You know Rin always wants to talk to you.”

After that, they ease into a comfortable quiet while Haru’s mind digests new information: Sousuke comes to Iwatobi to see a physical therapist. It’s not a huge revelation, but he wonders how his house appeared on that route, and why he would seek Haru rather than someone he knows better, like Gou. Even Makoto would have served a superior substitute with his easy kindness and consideration. Not Haru. 

The thought of Makoto brings guilt back into his stomach, a heavy and awful burden of conscience. With the groceries finished, his hands relax and he looks around the room, as though searching for a distracting occupation.

Unable to find one, he blurts, “How’s Makoto?” 

Gou is careful when she looks at him, biting at her lip in a measure of deliberation. “He’s… he’s good. You should really talk to him, Haruka-senpai. I—I don’t know what happened between you two, and it’s not my business, but… you’re both my friends. And I care about you a lot. I know he’s not mad at you.”

“I yelled at him,” Haru says. “He didn’t deserve it.”

There’s pressure on his shoulder, and he glances with surprise at the touch of Gou’s hand. “It’ll be okay. Whatever decision you make, you don’t have to let it change everything. You’re too hard on yourself sometimes.”

 _Not hard enough_. He hears the words in Sousuke’s voice. 

Gou stays for while longer, their conversation bouncing around a few topics, none of which capture all of his attention. His thoughts drift between Makoto and Sousuke as two sources of anxiety, obsessive waves resonating back and forth. And then there’s Rin. In Australia, out of reach—he wonders if it’s selfish to wish he was here, that maybe he’d bring clarity to this moment. He hurt Rin too. He remembers both of their faces: Rin in the darkness of the locker room, Makoto in the moonlight at the festival. He’s hurting everyone around him, and he doesn’t know how to stop, control fumbling from his grasp.

When Gou leaves, she’s wearing a smile again, warm and brimming with affection. It makes him feel better for a little while.

*

It takes two days, but Sousuke returns to haunt his doorstep. Haru begins wondering whether his appearances align with a certain schedule; if maybe Sousuke only sees his therapist on select days, and otherwise the trek to Iwatobi is a hassle. Haru tells himself he’s not anticipating that knock on his door, but when it comes, the adrenaline is back. He hasn’t had a guest since Gou. There’s nothing to promise it’s Sousuke, except he just _knows_ , and that certainty only heightens his expectation.

“There’s pork,” he says as he opens the door wide. Sousuke looks lost, and then—in a brief, momentary flicker—he smirks, although Haru would argue it’s closer to a grimace. The effect is the same whatever it means, his stomach fluttering.

“That’s a weird way to greet someone.” Sousuke crosses into the foyer where he peels off his sneakers. “Are you saying that you want me to cook it?”

Haru shrugs. “You asked for it last time.”

“Then I guess I should cook it.”

After they’ve eaten, Haru begins picking up the dishes and carrying them into the kitchen. He rolls up his sleeves, turning on the sink to rinse and clean in mechanical fashion, setting plates aside to dry. Sousuke appears at his elbow to pick up a hand towel and they work in silence for several minutes.

“Come to the pool with me,” Haru says once they’ve finished. He’s still standing at the sink, water shut off, staring at his wet hands in severe contemplation. When he glances up, Sousuke’s giving him a critical look. “Not to race. I just want to swim.”

“I don’t get it,” Sousuke exhales. “But fine. Whatever.”

Haru takes his time changing in the bathroom, pulling jeans over his jammers for the walk, then finds Sousuke standing by the door with a guarded expression. The sky is streaked with colors at the onset of night: watery blues and yellows, a faint red glow behind them. They’ll have to come back in the dark, and he wonders whether Sousuke will miss his train. He can go when he needs to; it’s not like Haru is keeping him here.

It doesn’t take long to reach Iwatobi High School. The front building is surreal to him at this hour, vaguely unrecognizable in the lengthening shadow. He’s only seen it this late on days he’s stayed behind to swim on his own—this is a bit like that, he thinks, but the strangest part is having Sousuke with him. When he can indulge in late night swims, he’s never done it with someone else. It’s typically a strategy to clear his head.

Sousuke does anything but that.

The door to the pool utility building is locked. Without hesitation, Haru wraps both fists around the handle and twists, first in one direction then the other, planting his feet solidly on the ground—a few heaving tugs forces it open on a whine of hinges. Sousuke laughs in disbelief. “Wow, breaking and entering. You’re a criminal.”

“The lock was broken a while ago,” Haru explains. “They keep saying they’re going to fix it.”

“Why bother locking it at all?”

“No one knows it’s broken except us.”

“Impressive security.”

He glares at Sousuke, adamant on dismissing the shiver when he senses playfulness in their banter. It’s a strange and unprecedented shift of nature.

Inside the locker room, he peels out of his clothes and ignores Sousuke. He tells himself he’s getting better at that—rebuffing Sousuke’s gaze, pretending he can’t feel it pressed along his spine like a hot brand—but it isn’t easy. 

Once they’re outside, those thoughts fall away. Haru devours the sight of the pool with open adoration, hurrying as he climbs the steps and approaches the edge. It’s different than Samezuka’s pool at night. Lit more by the moon than anything artificial, blue and clear as crystal, flat surface glittering up at him. Haru sits on the concrete embankment and lets his feet hang in, toes curled as he stirs bubbles with a weak kick of one leg. 

Haru's eyes close, at peace, and in one fluid movement he slides from the edge. He swims to one end of the lane, then back to the other side, graceful strokes that have nothing to do with time or competition. He searches for Sousuke, who has claimed the opposite side of the pool. Haru watches him roll up his jeans and seat himself on the concrete, feet submerged, hands planted behind him as an anchor. The tension he’s used to seeing in Sousuke drains away by small degrees. He’s looking off toward the sky. After a moment, his eyes drop to Haru’s as if sensing the stare. Haru shudders and slips under, arms propelling him in a lazy lurch forward.

Without thinking, he surfaces closer and wraps one hand around Souske’s dangling ankle. He pulls on it with a great effort of strength, but nothing happens. Sousuke barely moves.

“What the hell are you trying to do? Pull me in?” 

“Trying,” Haru says in a huff. “You’re too heavy.”

“I thought _you_ were swimming, not me. I don’t have anything to swim in.”

“So?” he says, because that hasn’t stopped him before. 

“I’m not going to get drenched just because you’re being—weird,” Sousuke says, like it takes him a second to select a descriptor. “I’m not playing that game, Nanase.”

Haru hesitates; it’s been a while since Sousuke’s said his name and he doesn’t understand how it makes him feel. Still Nanase instead of Haruka, but better than silence, better than glares.

“Fine.” He sinks down until his chin touches the water level.

“Are you pouting now? I’ve never seen you like this before.” Sousuke smirks, and it suits his face. “You’re like a stray cat. I can’t tell if this is you being playful or annoying.”

The look leaves a strange impression on Haru. His belly is restless, heart fluttering too quick for how still he is. He doesn’t know what that means, so he does the only thing he can think in that moment, palm splashing up at Sousuke. 

“ _Hey_ —!”

Haru ducks underwater and kicks off from the wall, a streak of athletic momentum that carries him to safety. And just in time, considering the murderous tint to Sousuke’s eyes once he resurfaces. He doesn’t come after Haru. He continues sitting there, ankles in the water, shirt slightly damp and sticking to skin.

When Haru’s had his fill of the pool some twenty minutes later, he climbs out at the other end. He drips a path into the locker room shadowed closely by Sousuke. The air inside is cold and biting.

“Nanase,” he hears, just as suddenly as Sousuke turns him around, pushes him against the wall of lockers, and kisses him. It takes all of the air from his lungs. Their mouths seal as Sousuke firms his lips for a better angle. Haru’s eyes remain open the entire time. It lasts too long, or goes too quick, but when it ends his chest is burning for lack of breath. He must have wheezed it all out when his back met hard metal.

“What was that,” he says flatly, eyes wide and horrified. His stomach is a mess of nerves and nausea. 

Sousuke glares at him and takes a step back. “Nothing.”

He walks out of the room before Haru dares to follow. By the time he gets to the sidewalk outside the utility building, Sousuke has disappeared. 

*

It doesn’t shock him when Sousuke no longer shows up at his door. Haru is numb with the memory of their kiss, how all he recalls is chlorine and heat, how he can interpret nothing of Sousuke’s intent. 

When Rin returns from Australia he’s brighter than he’d left, a shining beacon at a distance from himself. Nationals is a memory he won’t soon forget, his team propelling him forward to the finish, although there’s something—missing. Something vague and abstract at the back of his mind. Their victory scorches through him, but he’s blind in the aftermath. 

Makoto is the one who seeks him out a day following nationals. Haru is on the porch, bent down, watering a small potted plant. 

“Hi,” his best friend says gently. A bit firmer, “Can we talk, Haru?”

Haru swallows, sets down the watering tin, says, “Yeah,” and opens the door. Once they’ve moved into the cooler hall, Makoto’s tension eases somewhat. At least he doesn’t look as though he may topple over. 

“I wanted to talk at nationals, but… it didn’t seem like the best time with everything else going on.” Makoto looks at him, his gaze direct. “I’m sorry if this is a bad time too.”

“No, it’s fine,” Haru ducks his head. “I should have found you sooner.”

Makoto laughs in a rush; something about it drains away all of the bad thoughts, all of the worry from his gut. He breathes in cleanly. 

“It’s okay, Haru. Neither of us were in the right state of mind for that conversation, I think. But… I’m glad you’re doing all right. I was worried about you.”

It’s the most preposterous thing he’s ever heard, because he should have been worried about Makoto, because all he ever _does_ is trouble Makoto, that isn’t fair at all—Haru frowns and glances up in resolution.

“I’m sorry,” he says to his best friend. “It isn’t your fault. None of this is.”

Makoto smiles at him, somehow subdued. A little sad. “Thank you, Haru.”

*

A few weeks later they find each other, against all of Haru’s expectations, at the local Iwatobi supermarket. Sousuke is purchasing a bottle of water and prepackaged lunch, both items tucked securely under one arm. When Haru sees him, he doubles back and turns a narrow corner around a shelf in his escape attempt, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already been spotted, much like the night at the station. The weight of Sousuke’s gaze is awful. Haru gets in line carrying his basket and in seconds Sousuke appears at his back.

“You’re running away,” Sousuke says judgmentally. “Stop acting like I’m going to throw you up against the nearest wall.”

Haru seethes in equal parts horror and embarrassment, a rush of emotion that takes him by surprise. He’s not sure if this constitutes the easier, more playful banter they’d fallen into, but it doesn’t feel like it. The context has altered entirely. 

“Then stop following me,” he counters. 

“You’re being paranoid, you know. I needed to get lunch. This was the closest place.”

“Were you going to an appointment?” he says before he can think. Sousuke’s expression is difficult to read. The check-stand line moves up and they’re interrupted while Haru pays for his groceries, stepping aside when he’s finished. He doesn’t think anything about waiting for Sousuke outside the store’s entrance.

“Physical therapy,” Sousuke says when he joins him. His tone is flat, as though he can’t push any other words out. “Did Gou tell you?”

“Sort of.”

“Figures,” Sousuke scoffs, heading down the street. Haru follows in silence. When they reach the set of stairs up to his house, it dawns on him this is where Sousuke was leading them. He spent the duration of the trip examining Sousuke’s shoulders, his broadness, the whole quiet magnitude of him. 

Once they’re inside, shoes off and groceries deposited on the table, Sousuke digs through one of the bags. “You bought more pork?”

Haru shrugs. “I thought you could cook.”

“Well, I’m eating my lunch first,” he says, but there’s humor in it. “Did you think I was gonna come here, or do you just keep buying pork hoping I’ll show up? Because that’s a little cute.”

Haru gives him a stricken look. “No,” he deflects, having no idea which accusation he means. Maybe both. Feeling somehow humiliated, Haru turns and stalks off with a resolute, “I’m going to take a bath.”

He’s not sure how long he spends in there, but his toes and fingers are numb by the end of it. There’s a knock at the door. He expects Sousuke to appear in the threshold as rudely as the first time, but he never does. Haru sloshes out of the tub and dries off, changing quickly into a fresh set of clothes.

When he walks into the kitchen, he inhales the scents of cooking spices and finds Sousuke at the counter, a dark blue apron over his clothes. Haru recognizes it as his own.

“Didn’t you just eat?” he asks bluntly.

Sousuke looks at him over a shoulder. “So what?”

Haru wanders to the table to sit while he waits. When Sousuke is finished, they eat in reasonable silence. The food tastes good, as usual, and he can’t help the quick glances he steals throughout the meal. He wants to ask why he’s here at all, why he would want to come back, what has changed—more than that, what last time meant. It sits petrified on his tongue but never comes out. 

He’s ignored, so it doesn’t matter. Once they’re done, Sousuke collects the dishes and carries them to the kitchen, where he begins to methodically clean up. Haru doesn’t protest, following with slower steps as the frustration resurfaces. He passes by Sousuke at the sink to go outside and feed the two cats sleeping in the garden. A calico with bright eyes lifts its head, tail twitching in a lazy curl. 

Inside, Sousuke is gathering his bag from the floor. 

“You can stay,” Haru says. His tongue is thick in his mouth. He’s horrified by what he’s said. He wants to take the words back. 

Whatever expression Sousuke makes, he doesn’t understand it, but the bag is set back down. “Why?”

“When is your next appointment?”

“Not until next week,” Sousuke says.

“Visit Gou tomorrow.” It sounds like he’s fishing for an excuse. “She said she wanted to see you. She’s not far.” Closer than Samezuka, in any case. It isn’t a lie.

“If you want me to stay,” Sousuke looks directly at him, “you can say as much, Nanase.”

Haru’s entire body bristles at the statement. “It’s just an offer.” Never mind he’s so far performed the role of a substandard host with no concern for his guest. Sousuke’s done nothing to deserve propriety, anyway.

“It’s a weird offer.”

“Then forget it.” Haru stalks from the foyer. He’s halfway to the safety of his bedroom when he hears movement behind him: Sousuke is following. He raises his voice to a petulant volume. “I said forget it.”

“Stop being a child. What’s with you?”

“You’re the one who—” A hand clamps onto his shoulder, whirling him around, too much strength in the hold to break successfully away. Haru staggers on his feet, eyes wild as he says, “Let me go.” 

“I’m not letting you run away again.”

 _Again?_ The frustration is hot enough in his body to blister. He yanks at that grasp on him, squirming with ineffective gracelessness, but Sousuke doesn’t yield. “I’m not running.”

“You are,” Sousuke says it in his face, a gust of humidity on his cheek. “That’s all you do. You just run from everything and everyone and hope they disappear. And when they don’t, you yell at them. That’s how you treated Tachibana. That’s how you treated Rin. How do you expect to get anywhere like that? You can’t ask me to stay if you’re going to ignore me.” He rattles Haru’s shoulder. “ _Nanase_.”

At once, the fight drains out. He lifts both hands to Sousuke’s broad shoulders, solid underneath his palms, trying to push. “Leave me alone.”

“No,” Sousuke says, although his grip slackens and falls away. “I’m staying the night.”

Haru doesn’t know what to do. Every part of him protests. He’s already revoked his permission and he regrets ever offering at all. It’s frustrating Sousuke would only want to stay now he isn’t wanted, but neither does it surprise him, because that obstinacy is not new.

Resigned to his aggravation, he opens a closet door halfway down the hall. Spare bedding bundled in his arms, he dumps it into the guest room. 

“Fine,” he huffs. “I’m going to bed. Don’t bother me.”

A tired, weak excuse—and yet Sousuke watches him go without another word.

Hours later, Haru tosses in the tangled sheets of his bed, glaring at the ceiling. The room is cool in the silence, but as much as he chases it, he can’t sleep with the reminder of another person in his house. His imagination is too active, too vivid. His thoughts are turbulent and nauseating. Sousuke’s words are loud in his head, but he can’t begin to shake them, no matter how he tries. Haru almost wishes back those days of endless slumber where the world beyond his house disappeared, because the anxiety is aggravated by Sousuke’s presence, made worse by proximity, and perhaps sleep would numb it. 

Out in the hall, Haru’s feet are muted across the floor. There’s a danger in being caught, but he pushes through it. Fortunately, Sousuke has left his door open, and he slips in without trouble. 

He hasn’t been in here for a while. It’s a mostly unused room given Haru’s frequent lack of company. The windows are wide on the opposite wall, allowing light from the streetlamps to filter through the slits of closed blinds, and he can see vague shapes due to the ambient illumination. There is a form on the floor covered in blankets and tucked neatly into the corner. 

Haru had expected him to leave in the night, expected abandonment if anything, so finding Sousuke bundled in the spare bedding untwists a foreign knot in his chest.

He isn’t sure why he’s in here. Moving on quiet heels, Haru crosses to the window and settles on the floor, folding his legs.

“Some people would be creeped out by you.” Sousuke voice comes out of nowhere. “Sneaking into their room while they’re asleep. That’s not normal.”

Startled, Haru stares at the lump on the futon. “You’re not asleep,” he argues.

“I was before you walked in. And how would you know that, anyway?”

Knees to his chest, Haru pretends none of this is happening, that his heart isn’t a frantic pulse in his ribs, that his mind isn’t blank in panic, that his eyes aren’t skimming the shadow for desperate resolution. Finally Sousuke moves, a roll to the side that tugs the blanket off-shoulder. His gaze is lidded and drowsy when he looks at Haru. 

“You’re cowering in the corner,” Sousuke says.

“I’m not.”

Sousuke moves by pushing himself upright on an elbow. “Just come closer. I can barely see anything, it’s too dark.”

“Why?”

The frustrated sound is unmistakable; everything is loud in this dreamy, inbetween reality as the rest of the world slumbers on invisibly, unable to see them. “You’re so annoying. Why do you think?”

Haru frowns, and rather than a verbal response, he shifts a few inches on his knees to bridge some distance. Sousuke reaches out and yanks him the rest of the way—the sudden sway of momentum kickstarts his heart, threating to tear through its cavity in fast, frantic thuds. He lands on his hands halfway across the futon, blankets underneath his bunched fingers, knuckles curling in deeper. Sousuke is below him and glaring up, but his face is softer, features seeming less sharp. And his eyes are very dark.

A heavy arm folds over Haru’s shoulders and drags him into the space between Sousuke and the wall. He is breathless by the movement, almost delirious and reeling with disorientation. The kiss comes again this time, squared on his mouth, warm and sleepy. Sousuke presses into the seal of their lips while Haru lays rigid, his pulse unable to slow its manic rhythm. 

“Are you okay?” Sousuke asks in the dark. He’s stopped kissing him. “You can kick me in the stomach if you don’t want to. I’ll stop.”

“I—” It feels like chewing through fabric just to speak. “It’s… fine.”

“You have a way with words, Nanase.” He hears a breathless laugh. “Then if it’s fine, I’ll keep doing it.”

Again, the only word he can verbalize: “Why?” 

Haru discerns the intonation of frustration even though he can’t see the detail of Sousuke’s face, most of his attention taken by immediate physical preoccupations. His mouth is moist, his cheeks hot, his entire body one long, tense line as Sousuke holds onto him, keeping him securely there.

“I don’t know. In a way, I guess you’re… endearing.” He’s choosing his words in a voice more uncertain than Haru has ever heard. “Even if you’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. I don’t get you at all. I don’t get what Rin sees in you. You completely lack ambition and discipline.”

Although he wants to feed the defensiveness inside of himself, or else succumb to that dark tunnel of deprecating judgment, he doesn’t do either of those things. Instead, this close to Sousuke’s chest, Haru presses his ear to listen to the pace of his heart. The sound is calming, as though it comes to him underwater—slow, steady, strong like the pull of waves.

“But you’re cute,” Sousuke says, which jolts him out of his reverie.

Haru is sure his entire face is glowing in the dark. 

“And you’re talented,” Sousuke goes on. “You just don’t use it. You aren’t motivated. Not the way Rin is. Though I don’t think anyone is as driven as Rin. Maybe it’s not fair to compare you, but that’s all he ever does.”

“I get it,” he says sharply. “Enough.”

“I’m not saying it to make you feel better or worse. I’m just telling you what I think, because it makes me want to kiss you. I’m not happy about that either.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Haru wheezes and pushes with both hands to seek freedom. Sousuke doesn’t stop him from wiggling loose, which is all that affords him victory in that narrow space between a giant, muscular, healthy teenage boy and a wall. “Stop it. I don’t know why you’re saying this.”

“You asked me to,” Sousuke says. He lets Haru back off, and he sits up properly, shoulders a little slouched. “And because I wanted to. I’m tired of not saying it.”

“You can’t just decide…” he stops, unsure how to start again.

They go on sitting in the silent dimness, two creatures facing each other in a frozen deadlock, unable to connect, unable to communicate. Or at least unwilling. Haru wonders why his entire body feels as though it may snap into a thousand tiny, sharp pieces. His mind is fragmented and it’s difficult to breathe, but he forces himself, inhaling small pockets of air at a time. Weight sits on his chest, heavy and leaden and unmoving.

Until, finally, he organizes his thoughts enough to speak. Sousuke waits the entire time, allowing the quiet to extend in a gesture he’s not used to having. Most don’t possess the patience necessary, or the kindness to understand why his own processes can be delayed, why it’s so much harder for him than others.

“You can’t just decide that’s what you want.”

“How are you going to know if I don’t tell you?” He can’t see it, but it sounds as though Sousuke is smiling around his words, some hidden amusement in them. “You’ll probably ignore me forever if I never came back here. You wouldn’t ask me. But if I’m wrong, and you don’t want me here, then tell me that.”

Haru sits at the bottom of the futon, his body curling into a tight ball. His arms secure themselves around his knees and his chin sits at the top of one bent knee. His eyes are beginning to adjust to the shadow—he can see Sousuke better, and his gaze catalogues every detail, hungrily devouring what vague information he can. The other boy is still slouched in place, leaning now against the wall, watching him. Sousuke’s eyes are halfway closed which lends a drowsy quality to his expression. He’s so much bigger than Haru. Almost scary, even though Haru is inherently aware he poses no real danger in this moment beyond those terrifying and heart-stopping kisses. But he also seems… cagey, defensive, uncertain. The slump of his shoulders can’t be a relaxed posture. 

For the first time, Haru imagines what’s in his head. All of the doubt, questioning, and anxiety—he resonates with it. For the first time, the mystery of Sousuke Yamazaki doesn’t seem as impossible as he thought.

Haru breathes evenly until he can feel himself calm down. “I don’t want you to leave.”

The dark shape of Sousuke stirs, but doesn’t move closer.

“I… like when you come here,” Haru says. “I didn’t get it at first. I thought you hated me.” _Or wanted to drown me_ , he doesn’t admit. “But I wanted to see you.”

“That wasn’t so hard,” Sousuke says. 

He huffs. “You’re annoying.”

“So are you.”

Haru frowns and looks at his toes on the bed sheets, then back up. “I said it. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“No,” Sousuke says, which startles him. This time there’s movement as the other boy shifts further into his space, close enough he can feel the gentle puff of breath on his cheek, close enough he can smell the scent of him, can feel the radiating warmth of his body. “There’s something I want more.”

But he does nothing to bridge the remaining distance once he leans forward. Haru stares blankly, throat closed to make swallowing difficult, while Sousuke looks at him with an expectancy he’s afraid to determine.

With caution, he lifts one hand and touches the curve of Sousuke’s jawline, following a path to cup the side of his face. His other hand rises in suit, although it wanders with a more thorough touch into short, dark hair, feeling the strands flatten underneath his palm. When Haru dips and kisses his mouth, he studies those lips with his own, how they pinch into a tight line at the faintest pressure. The kiss is a vague and gentle experience compared to Sousuke’s advances, but neither of them take any initiative in deepening it, and Haru appreciates the slow introduction. 

It isn’t so terrifying now. He cups Sousuke’s chin with a firmer grip and kisses the same spot of his mouth, touching their lips together with inquisitive exploration. When Sousuke exhales, the hot gust tickles his nose. 

He can see better now. The closeness aids his vision, as does the light from the thin slits of blinds leaking in, painting the room in abstract shadow. He can see the color of Sousuke’s eyes, halfway closed, two blue pools darkened near black. Haru’s stomach is a tangled bundle, but there’s enough of a propulsion of courage that he reaches both hands up and sets them on those wide shoulders. He knows one is injured, but it doesn’t stop him pressing, pushing, until Sousuke goes down onto the futon.

Their mouths connect in a continuous chain of kisses, breaking off to inhale, then meeting again, and again, lips forming more familiarly together. Sousuke is incredibly warm. Haru feels hot in the stuffy shirt of his sleepwear, kneeling until he sits across Sousuke’s hips, a comfortable perch that puts him above.

Reality distances itself from him until he’s left with a subtle impression of dreaming. The kissing finally deepens, wet tip of a tongue brought across the seam of their lips. Haru lets out a noise and pulls back wide-eyed.

“What,” Sousuke says. “Haven’t you kissed anyone before?”

“No.” Haru is staring at him.

“...I guess I should’ve expected that.” He sighs and cradles Haru’s back, stroking up his spine, as though he’s soothing a spooked animal. “It’s not that hard. Just do what I do.”

Easy for him to say. Haru frowns, but he doesn’t resist when his chin is tilted down, leaning his weight forward against Sousuke’s chest. Both of his hands plant themselves on the sheets for stability. The direct contact of their bodies has Haru’s ears flaring with heat, although he’s persistent when a new kiss comes, looser, lips spreading to introduce a slippery tongue. He lets it into his mouth and startles at the sudden, slick sensation of that invasion, Sousuke licking all the way inside. His own tongue curls in curious response.

They do this for several minutes, Haru pushing his pelvic bone against the other boy’s stomach without complete awareness of the motion. And then, in effusing warmth, his entire body shakes—the release of pleasure vibrates through his belly, an orgasm more intense than he’s prepared to handle. Nothing at all like the solitude or safety of himself alone.

When it fades, Sousuke is watching him with an open expression of surprise. He makes a soft chuffing sound.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Haru says.

“I’m not. Well,” Sousuke rubs his back again. “Maybe a little. I didn’t expect that.”

He doesn’t hide his glaring. It only seems to inspire more humor at his expense, as Sousuke smirks and pecks him on the chin.

“Stop pouting.”

Haru doesn’t obey, but he does begin to ease his weight tenderly off of the other boy’s hips, only to make Sousuke startle and fall still. His brow rises. He does it again, now feeling the hard shape against the underside of his thigh. “Oh.”

“Forget about it,” Sousuke says. “We should get some— _Nanase_ —”

Stubbornly, Haru has settled his weight and lowered a palm to cup that hardness through fabric. His eyes are turned downward to look. He can feel Sousuke watching him, but it isn’t a deterrent for his own fascination. His fingers trace the outline of Sousuke’s cock through clothes, finding the tip, following it down, pressing one palm against his lower stomach. He’s dutifully absorbed in his work. He tugs at the fabric until he can get inside, shocked to find how hot this part of Sousuke feels trapped in his fingers.

When his concentration slips, he hears Sousuke making quiet panting noises, studying his face in the pale blue light. Sousuke keeps his eyes almost completely closed, mouth parted to allow breath, chest rising with each inhalation. Struck by a sudden need, Haru leans forward to put his ear against Sousuke’s sternum. He keeps his hand where it is, buried into Sousuke’s pants, draping his body over top of him. 

It’s a strangely intimate position. As though he holds Sousuke’s heart in his hand, he feels both the pulse of his cock and hears the stuttering beat underneath his ribs. With clumsy care, Haru strokes the warm skin in his grip as he might touch himself. It doesn’t take long. Soon Sousuke is coating the center of his palm in wet stripes of come, which he rubs between his fingers when he withdraws them, frowning slightly. Without even thinking, Haru wipes them clean on the blanket.

“Hey,” Sousuke hisses. “I'm supposed to use that.”

He blinks at him owlishly, frown still affixed to his mouth. “You can sleep in my bed.”

“Are you serious?” He studies Haru. “You are.”

Haru shrugs, removing himself and slumping onto the edge of the futon. His body is drained of its earlier sleeplessness and he realizes he wants to curl up and let go of his mind, but not before rinsing off. The urge is almost visceral.

“Take a bath with me,” he demands. It takes great effort to climb to his feet, but he manages without incident.

Sousuke looks up at him, sprawled on the sheets with an expression like a cranky cat, his features vaguely illuminated. Somehow, his eyes are even blacker than before.

*

In the bathroom, they cram themselves together, water running warm at Sousuke’s insistence. Haru would have been fine with a cooler temperature, especially given how hot his skin still feels, but he acquiesces without much complaint. He’s drowsy enough that fighting Sousuke would require more energy than he contains. 

The tub manages to fit them, but they’re pressed so closely their skin slides together. He settles his back against Sousuke’s chest in the water, dipping low enough it touches his ears, and then he closes his eyes. A few bubbles of air escape his lips and pop on the surface.

Sousuke says nothing while he gathers soap suds and rubs their arms, their legs, their shoulders. He scrubs briefly at Haru’s scalp, hair sticking to the nape of his neck. Sousuke kisses that spot—Haru hums underwater, lashes flickering.

The moment is surreal in its tranquility. He’s close to falling asleep. Eventually, Sousuke coaxes him up and wraps him in a towel, leading them down the hall. Haru’s bed isn’t much larger than the spare futon. When they lay down, their limbs are in inevasible contact. He doesn’t mind, barely thinks anything before the darkness lures his mind into oblivion.

*

The weather is beautiful—crisp air, a golden sky, blossoms on the trees. Haru stands apart from the gathering of new graduates, staring out across the horizon. He can almost see the ocean above the rooftops. 

Through the crowd, Rin finds him. He’s smiling, almost blinding to face, and when Haru does he has to blink several times. 

“You’re staying in Iwatobi, it sounds like,” Rin says to him. “I won’t say I’m not disappointed. I really wanted to race you on the international level, you know.”

“I know.” He can’t tell what he’s expecting. It seems his entire body is braced for an inexplicable impact, watching Rin with guarded reservation.

“But I think… this is a good decision for you, Haru. You don’t have to believe me. I pushed you harder than anyone, but that’s because I knew you could do it.”

Haru looks at his toes.

“Hey.” Rin nudges his shoulder. “I’m serious. And I mean it—I’ll be waiting for you one day. Understand?”

He tilts his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll keep swimming,” Rin says. “You don’t have a choice. Even if it isn’t competitive, you won’t stop. Just don’t swim for anyone else, okay?”

Haru barely breathes. “Okay.” And then, surer, “Thanks, Rin.”

Rin’s radiant smile thaws into a warmer expression, gaze drawn toward the crowd and beyond it. “Someone’s looking for you, Haru. You should go.”

When Haru turns around, he sees Sousuke in the distance—a dark outline on the landscape of all of this light, strangely cropped against the pink trees and gold sky. Sousuke waves, his own smirk broad across his face, a grocery bag hanging over his good shoulder. The rest of the world seems to drown out. His heart trips into his throat.

And as though drawn by magnetic force, as though pulled toward the sea, Haru goes to meet him.

**Author's Note:**

> The title song and my initial inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_ROhhnWzps.


End file.
